The crowd waves, and shouts, and hurrahs, and gives every sign of glad welcome and hearty congratulation, and as the steamer sweeps round the pier-head, the pale upturned faces of one hundred and twenty rescued men, women, and children, smile back a glad acknowledgment of the welcome so warmly given. It is a scene almost overpowering in the deep feeling that it produces. The emigrants land; they toil weakly up the steps to the pier, all bearing signs of the dangers and hardships through which they have passed.
Some are barely clothed, some have blankets wrapped round them, and all are weary and worn and faint with cold and wet and long suspense. There are aged women among the emigrants; some who had been unwilling to be left behind when those most dear to them were about to seek their fortunes abroad; others had been sent for by their friends, and to them the thoughts of the terrors and trials of a sea-voyage had been overcome by the longing to see, once again before they died, the faces so long loved and so much missed; to see perhaps the grand-children upon whom, although they had never looked, yet they had thought of until they had become almost part of their daily life. It is piteous to see these aged women totter from the steamer to the pier.
And young men and young women are of the number; they, crowded in the race at home, determined to seek in a wider field to make better way.
Here a poor stricken woman looks wistfully upon the white face and almost closed eyes of the baby in her husband's arms. This is the child that was so nearly lost overboard as it was thrown into the boat wrapped up in a blanket; the mother's fears were not realised—the baby speedily recovered.
It now becomes the glad office of the people of Ramsgate to bestir themselves on behalf of those suddenly thrown upon their charity.
The agent of the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners' Society at once takes charge of the sailors. Accommodation is found for the emigrants in houses near the pier, and a plentiful meal at once supplied; many of the residents busy themselves most heartily; clothes, dresses, coats, boots, and all necessary garments are most liberally given; the people are ready to spoil themselves on behalf of the poor emigrants.
And thus warmed, fed, clothed and consoled by the heartfelt sympathy that is so evidently and practically manifested, the poor emigrants recover in a wonderfully short space of time from the state of physical and nervous exhaustion to which they had been reduced; but they are never likely to forget the terrors of the night, or the debt of gratitude they owe to the gallant Ramsgate life-boat men, who so nobly effected their rescue.
Subscriptions in the meantime have been raised in the town to pay all expenses, and to put into the hands of the poor emigrants some little ready money.
One of the shipping agents has telegraphed to the owners of the ship, and been empowered to provide the emigrants all needed board and lodging; he does so, and on the next morning forwards them to London. A crowd of Ramsgate people bid them good-bye at the station, and receive grateful acknowledgments of the kindness and sympathy that have been shown, and they from their hearts wish their poor friends God speed.
The emigrants were cared for in London by the owners of the Fusilier. The weather moderating the morning after the wreck, the emigrants' things were got out of the vessel and sent on to them; and the owners of the Fusilier soon obtained another ship, in which they forwarded their passengers, and they had a prosperous voyage to Melbourne.